People, Pleaser
by RedSkyNight
Summary: Laguna meets some interesting characters, all the while trying to make it through his journey. No one said it would be easy.  Jecht is up
1. 60 Second BeatDown

**Summary:** _Laguna meets some interesting characters, all the while trying to make it through his journey. No one said it would be easy._

**A/N:** It actually started out as something serious, and then I bothered trying to make Laguna sound dorkier than I usually make him which meant meme-inserts...Can you catch them all? And then he meets Jecht, and my thoughts began to spiral down from there. I'm not sure if I can continue _Papa Can't Preach_ without ruining it, so I'm holding off until exams are over and I can make a meaningful next installment. Fine, yeah?

I don't think this is any good, but here it is. I'll likely edit it later.

* * *

**_People-Pleaser_**

* * *

_60 seconds..._

There are exactly 60 seconds in a minute, even a very long one, Laguna remembers for no reason at all. Except, maybe, for the fact its dizzy and painful, and he really needs to focus on something if he intends to get out of here in one piece. Or alive.

Preferably _both_.

He thinks he can see a double rainbow somewhere, but his trust in his sense of sight is a bit shaky at the moment, like his legs, so he's ignoring that and trying to make sure everything's working inside and out. No wires sparking, no '_oh, did I forget something important?_' and trying to crawl back over to find a missing spleen or something. Body and mind. And all that sort of stuff. Maybe he should try that Zen thing that was a fad a while ago in the upper districts of Esthar. His secretary was recommending it and everything-_Ouch_.

But that's _not _the point.

He's being beaten within an inch of his life. Kiros isn't dancing and telling him to pick his ass _up_ and do _something_ while backing him up with those fancy foot-skills and knives. _Man_, the things that guy could do with a table knife and turkey in the kitchen...Ward isn't throwing around that ridiculously huge and shaking the earth up like he's a vengeful Guardian Force intent on smiting all earthbound creatures in his rage-heh, poetic-like those brothers in that cave by Galbadia. Whatever happened to them…?

It's just him trying to pick up his impossibly heavy arms, fumble with some bullets, and _aim_ Rags at the thing that is mercilessly taking him apart piece by _ever-loving_ piece _like a boss_.

He's all for challenging himself, for pushing himself past his limits, _going beyond the impossible_, in order to make it back home to Raine and maybe so he can also tell a story that will draw that quiet impressed look from her that lasts long enough for him to feel...but that's something of a tangent, which he usually _loves_, when he isn't getting the crap beat out of him like he's a piñata filled with tons of candy at a 5-year old's birthday party. A super-evil-powered 5-year-old. Totally, for later when he's got some actual victories under his belt.

Which this is totally _not._

He breathes in what he can as Rags tears up the ground in an effort to track the little demon half-blindly with one eye closed to protect it from the blood seeping down from a cut he got right above it, dodging every so often and finally lamenting that his hair, far from regulation, has finally gotten him trouble when his head is jerked painfully backward by one of those child-crystal-monkey-something-or-others. It hu_rts…_

And he's slammed down on the ground, chest heaving, and looking death in its small, devil-ninja-monkey-magic-thing eyes. The guy's not even up to his chin, and he'd be in his corner of doom and gloom all about it all if he had the time, vitality, and confidence to do it. He notes that the eyes, or the places where they should be, are green, likely really green-maybe-emerald, and laughs hoarsely when he starts thinking about Winhill and how much he'd like to see that green instead.

"Hey," Laguna greets, actually coughing a bit in between syllables, blood trickling down from the corner of his mouth and _pit-pattering_ on the rocky ground in a drum-beat fashion. "How ya' doin'?" He hopes those are some _awesome_ last words, something that sums up everything about him without leaving anything important out. Words, words, words are important. He'd say something cooler, but those green eyes are getting brighter and the edges at the corner of his eyes are getting darker and he's having trouble thinking of anything at this point. He giggles as it catches up to him, a little kid taking him down when he's without his friends-he really misses them watching his back-and so easily without him even being able to act like a proper Cosmos Warrior and help out like he promised he would do-

And then the crystal-thingy lets go.

"Oh." Laguna whispers, his eyes wide open as he slumps to the ground in complete exhaustion and defeat. "I really need to get a potion." Things are getting hazier the longer he keeps his eyes open, but he can't remember why he wanted them open in the first place since he's _so tired_-

And as some other guy jumps in and starts beating into the little crystal-monkey-ninja like he was born to do it, which is more than Laguna could ever say, he smiles and hums before he blacks out and hits the ground.

"_R'nt eye-h Lu-key._"


	2. KitsyKatsy Hero

**Summary: **Laguna meets some interesting characters, all the while trying to make it through his journey. No one said it would be easy.

**_A/N:_** _It could be either of the brothers, and I'm pretty sure I'm placing this in one of the cycles before 12th, now that I have duodecim...I love spamming enemies with Laguna from afar! I don't like Yuna's long distance much, and Kain I cycle between love and hate with. Like his apparent loyalties (*joke*_)_._

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_**People, Pleaser**_

* * *

_Kitsy-Katsy_

The guy was a like a cat, all sleek and agile and limbs.

"_Thanks_, thanks _so much_!" Laguna gulps down potion after potion like a starving man, observed by the guy who'd rescued him an hour-day-month ago. You can't be too clear about the passage of time in this place.

"No problem." Hero's got a tail that curls and bunches behind him like a cat, and his smile isn't too far off the mark either. He's got a vicious fang peaking out of the lips framing his smile, and Laguna feels like it there's something he's missing, something he should be asking, but he dismisses it, glad that there's at least one thing going for him right now. He doesn't want to think about where he's going to find bullets to replace all the ones he just lost. Like trying to find a bullet in a haystack-except not.

"So, you headed anywhere?" The question is delivered smoothly and not entirely out of place, but Laguna almost chokes on the drink that he's been chugging down, like a good, tall glass of Horizon's finest, as he attempts to answer it, somehow still shocked by it. Hero smiles sharply, patting his back in different places like he's playing a drum, up-down-then-around, ruffling his jacket as his hands pass around, but he doesn't think much on it as the rhythm helps and he's back to breathing like a normal human being in no time. Only to smell something that stinks to high heave-Oh. _Him._ Yeah.

"Wherever the winds take me." Laguna delivers, still short of breath, but damn if he doesn't sound mysteriously cool. Like yeah. Maybe he could sneak that into his next state of the union address...

"You sure?" Hero poses the question archly, leaning forward, ever forward, and still smiling like he's got a secret that he doesn't want to share. Laguna takes a few steps backwards, stumbling and then tumbling onto his behind with a thump when he forgets to feel out his path and trips over a bit of rubble.

"I-I'm pretty sure!" He exclaims, bewildered and grateful when Hero backs off and perches himself on a rocky surface, directing his gaze up at the ever-present stars. Laguna jumps to his feet as suavely as he can, still trying to get his bearings, and sits lightly on a nearby structure. They don't say anything for a bit, so he starts to fidget. _Small-talk? Sounds about good right now._

"Where're you headed to?" His companion shrugs, obviously disinterested in anything but the stars' warped shining selves above them. Laguna's pretty sure stars don't shine like that, because he's seen them on Lunar Base, and those stars, closer than they are now on land and out of deep space, never gave him such shivers. The heebie-jeebies they were, downright frightful.

"Somewhere." Hero comments, noncommittally. His tail sways hypnotically, and Laguna can barely withhold the urge to touch it like a ball of shiny string, or a newly-issued machine gun, and decides to sit on his hands to stop it. It works, sort of. But now he's reminded by the lack of ammo in his pocket that he really needs to scavenge and maybe beg off of a moogle, the stingy little balls of fur. He saw a gunblade in their catalog, but he'd headed straight to the guns in stock before he gave it another thought. And he'd seen a glint in the mog's eyes when he saw him almost drool over some of the higher-tech models, but, then, who were those gunblade for-?

"Some_where_, a pl_ace_ I h_ave_ to re_turn_ to. Nei_ther_ Cloud _nor_ Squall sh_all_ hin_der me_." Hero hums this as he would a little ditty, his voice lilting and adding an exotic tilt to the words and painting a wistful picture in the air between them. It's a pretty tune he weaves, familiar, and Laguna thinks about Julia and Raine and all that came afterwards. And then he registers another issue he's been avoiding thinking about for as long as he's been wandering about. Squall. And that just sunk his mood about a hundred points below "happy". Thinking about the..._situation_ tended to do that to him. Laguna begins to tap his foot, part anxious and part frustrated as a flood of other unhappy thoughts begin to penetrate his haze of survivor's giddiness.

"Why did you help me?" Laguna puts it out there, to silence the nagging doubt in the back of his mind. He's not what you'd call highly observant about the obvious, his buddies reminding him of that often, but he'd like to think that when it counts, he knows the right thing to say or ask to get out of or into a situation. Ideas and words are his thing, and the thought of this guy, Hero or whatever his name really was (because in true Laguna-fashion, he hadn't bothered asking him it in-between the realization that he hadn't been absolutely murdered to death by a munchkin and the idea that he really wanted the pain to stop..._please?_), helping him so much without asking for anything or expecting anything in return, or even mentioning the thing, is weird. Unless the guy was some sort of-

"Do I _need_ a reason?" Laguna looks up, lost in his thoughts for a moment, and observes a softening of the sharp look on Hero's face. "Do I _need_ a reason to _help_ someone? "

"Uh-No, I mean, no!" He's aware of a warming on the bridge of his nose, so close to blushing its embarrassing all over again-he hadn't meant to _offend_ the guy who_ saved_ him! "I was just curious-"

"I mean, if I get into trouble, I expect you to help me out, 'kay Gunny? Give and take and all that." The tone is flirty now, light-hearted and utterly devoid of any of the gravity that had previously suffused the situation. The blond winks, tail curled around his waist, and starts walking off in a direction Laguna thinks is the opposite of where he's going to be headed. He sometimes feels like his thoughts get ahead of themselves in this place, though he's not sure how that's possible.

"I-I will!" Laguna punches the air, a grin ripping his features as he pumps a fist up at the thought. He's got an ally! A friend! No matter how odd the guy was, he's glad that he's not the only one watching his back now! Hero looks back for a moment, only a short moment, but raises his hand in a good-bye gesture, soon disappearing into the far-off distance.

"I help out any of my buddies!" Laguna reminds himself, energy returned to him in spades. He's alone, and now realizing how he probably needs to mosey along now before his voice attracts more trouble and munchkins. And the mogs wandered into the oddest places, almost like they didn't want to part with the wares they were meant to sell, which explained the abnormal pricing-

His smile falls, as he thinks for a moment before shaking his head in thought and turning to continue in the opposite direction, "Even if they're really weird. I mean, he helped me 'cause he was nice, why try to hide that?"

* * *

A/N: I've decided that when he isn't saving the world, or impressing a girl, or leading a crew of misfits, he's a bit shrewd (thief) and channels his inner actor a lot, hence the bipolarity. Also wanted him to seem a bit like an uncompromising cat (though he's modeled after a monkey, isn't he?). He's also been left alone to stew in his thoughts, alone in this world after the events of the IX, and wants to have a bit of variation.


	3. Magnificent Exellence

**Summary**:_ Laguna meets some interesting characters, all the while trying to make it through his journey. No one said it would be easy._

_A/N: In which the equation for this chapter is Jecht+foot in mouth=eventual male bonding. __Rather short feeling, but I couldn't think of any way to extend it without it getting too serious. The serious is being packed into Papa Can't Preach._

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_****__**People, Pleaser**_

* * *

_Excellent Magnificence_

"The hell d'ya want?" The next guy he encounters, desperately glad that his social self has someone else to talk to in this vast, broken world, is far from nice, but it's infinitely preferable to silence. And the creepy brand of silence around these parts is like nothing he wants a part of ever again. Or the weird look-alike, manikin-monsters.

There are many things about his current situation he objects to very much, actually. But, there is someone finally around, so there are better things to think on.

"I'm glad I caught you!" Laguna is all smiles and _pleasedon'tleavemealonehere_ as he walks to meet the other wanderer. The man, scarred and proudly bare from the waist up, grunts and looks at him with one eye open, the band around his head falling slightly to cover his other eye. He looks utterly feral, something a bit more beast than person, but underneath it all is a warmth he knows crystals can't mimic and darkness can't completely shadow. Laguna likes to think he can tell the men from the monsters nowadays. It's a bit more clear-cut in this world than it is back home.

"Of course, anyone would want to be 'round my mighty self." Arrogance exudes from every pore as the man laughs from his belly, loud and hoarse, but as Laguna absentmindedly fingers Rags, his trigger-happy finger curling in self-preserving preparation, he thinks it isn't too bad. The guy looks as if he deserves a bit of his pride, the sword on his back shouting danger and experience with every measured movement its owner makes without thinking.

"And who would you be, coming up and praising Jecht the Magnificent?" The rough, booming voice echoes from every wall of the enclosed mini-world, the suspended arena walls tall and steep and fractured every which way. The name is interesting, nothing Laguna's heard of before, and a completely different question than the one he should be asking is almost born before he redirects his thoughts to deal with the conversation at hand. He needs to focus.

"My name's Laguna-" He introduces himself, trying to reign in his enthusiasm, but obviously failing utterly at the slight appearance of a particular curl to Jecht's lips. He attempts a save, tacking on at the last second on the whim of a small gut-feeling, a little proto-pride that's developing in order to preserve his own sense of self in front of a man so full of himself he's overflowing. "-the Excellent." Jecht snorts, eyeing him up.

"What's your story then?-I'm the best Blitzer that ever was, the_ King of Blitzball_." Laguna doesn't know precisely what this "Blitz" thing actually is, but if he'd have to wager on something, he'd say it's a sport. That's one of his default assumptions when he guy starts crowing about how he's the best something-or-other. Sports are a something he's never been too good at, all the hand-eye coordination in the world can't help his two left feet, but he's feeling a burn of competition and thinks it might be good to have a little fun with this.

"My son's on his way to being just like-" Jecht cuts himself off, the slight downturn of his lips a soon forgotten memory as Laguna jumps in to tell his part. Jecht seems the type of man to carry on his side of a conversation until he runs out of things to say loudly. Any hesitation on his part would have to be taken as an opening to get a word in edgewise.

"My friends and I were soldiers who battled an evil sorceress and I became president of a country!" This is of course coupled with appropriate sound affects and waving-arm gestures to communicate the full-awesomeness of the occasion. Little Ellone always liked it. Laguna begins puffing his chest out (in partial imitation of his companion) and letting his thoughts ride the high of his former victory. He hasn't had a chance to really embrace it for a while, pulled this way and that with the stress of organizing Esthar and dealing with the aftermath of Adel, the dudette who looked like a guy. What was with that? "How's that?"

"Pansy-ass, is what it sounds like." Jecht jeers, crossing his arms across his chest and walking forward to shove him backward with a rough palm to the chest. "President-eh? Why settle for something so boring like that? Don't you wanna keep fighting and earn yourself some fame? I'd never be proud of sitting in some rusty throne like some doll-faced puppet."

Laguna falls silent, taken rather aback by the description, and Jecht only continues, "I mean, look at you. You don't look too bright, and by the guppy-face you've got on, you're probably one of those lucky freedom fighters who work out of their daddy's pocket. Your friends were probably just along for the money too."

"Heh," Jecht chuckles, seemingly oblivious or utterly not caring about the twitch developing on his companion's face. "I can't see you doing anything tough. Not looking like you do. Do you even know how to work that gun of yours? Seems like someone's overcompensating-of course, " he stops and smirks widely, a flexing his arms, "I don't need to prove anything."

"Doll-faced?" Laguna finally knows what to say, but its nothing he would say in polite company. Or really, any company outside that of his own head. Ifrit maybe, because he was a friendly one when he was angry, or even Bahamut when he felt like getting his divine smite on, but no one in the outside world. There were almost no words.

No one talked about his friends like that.

_No one_.

"Yeah, _doll-faced_, Pretty Boy," Jecht sneers, looking for all the world like he's just not met someone who is edging on letting his fingers accidentally slip in a completely coincidental manner while Rags is pointing his general direction . "You going to cry?"

"No," Laguna says stiffly, a pasted on smile the only thing separating him from his baser instincts. "I'm not."

Jecht let out another belly laugh, his shoulders shaking. "Then what, are you gonna run away then, like a baby?"

"No," Laguna replies, simply, teeth bared. "I'm going to make _you_ cry."

…

…

…

…

And then they were friends.

* * *

_**A/N**_: _I feel like they'd be cool with each other, bonding over heroic sons with daddy-issues who have to finish the work they started. Lament over the loss of their wives. You know._

_Jecht would be the 24/7 bully, jock, secret-pep-talk friend and Laguna would be the intellectual-bubble-headed, secret-life counselor friend. Jecht would make Laguna do his homework, but that's how they'd work._

_They'd need to show their stuff to each other first, though, Laguna beating into Jecht and Jecht eventually making amends by sharing supplies or something._

_Oh, pre-FFX Jecht and Pre-President era Laguna, so the latter doesn't know about Squall in this cycle since he hasn't assimilated memories of an older version of himself...Does that make sense?_


End file.
